


Not Without You

by Lady_Juno



Series: At Death's Door [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BagginShield fluff, Bilbo Baggins/Female Thorin Oakenshield, Dwarrowdam, F/M, Female Dwarf, Female Thorin, Gen, Hidden Dwarrowdams, Women In Power, fem!Thorin, girl!Thorin, lady!Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Juno/pseuds/Lady_Juno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo felt as though his chest were trying to explode. It wasn't enough that he was filthy- caked with mud and blood and still shaking with adrenaline. He was a Baggins, a hobbit who had never even had nightmares about things like this. And yet he had fought in a battle, a real battle, a clash of armies.<br/>"Bilbo!" Kili's strained voice reached his ears. "Bilbo, come quick! It's Thorin!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never Was

"Bilbo. I have to--he must know."

It was strange, thought a detached, logical part of Bilbo's brain, a part he no longer felt any need to listen to; it was strange how so weak and tired a voice could inspire so much more fear than any accusation or threat. In fact, thought Logical Bilbo as the hobbit made his way swiftly toward the bedridden king, the weakness and pain in this voice reminded him powerfully of words spoken before the new Lord of Esgaroth as the man held the shining white Arkenstone.

_"You are no friend of mine. Leave me... and never come back.”_

The hobbit fumbled for Thorin's hand, and felt another jolt of fear when the dwarf's fingers twitched weakly, as though unable to summon the strength even to close properly.

"Mr. Baggins." Thorin turned his wild, dark head to look at the burglar, but his blue eyes were cloudy and unfocused. Concussion, most likely. Bilbo tightened his grip on that weak, cool hand.

"I'm here, Thorin. I'm right here." He had long suspected that there was more to his loyalty toward the dwarf king than simple obligation or even the admiration and devotion he inspired in those close to him. Why was it only now, as Thorin lay dying, that he could admit to himself the truth of his feelings?

"You... Bilbo, you were right. You were right... about all of it." Thorin spoke in short bursts, his voice fading breathlessly at each pause. "The stone... see the stone cast into the Lake... or buried. Don't let Fili..."

"I will, Thorin. I promise." The hobbit could feel tears gathering in his eyes, and he brought Thorin's rough knuckles up to his face, pressing his forehead against them as though again swearing fealty. The gesture was not lost on the dwarf. Thorin smiled very faintly, very sadly.

"If I could take back my words... at the gate.... You are a most worthy hobbit. My hobbit. My burglar. I shouldn't... I shouldn't have...." Thorin paused to take a deeper breath, then winced and let out a low groan. The halfling could see blood seeping through the dark tunic, and supposedly the bandages underneath. Panic welled up inside him. Even as he yelled for Oin, for Gandalf, for _somebody_ to help, he prayed feverishly to every Vala he could think of.

_Please, please don't take him away from me. Please don't let him die. He's made it so far, done so much--you can't let him die now._

Bilbo held the dwarf's hand tightly, trying to mask his own trembling. "Please, my friend, my king--don't leave me. Even if it's a mark against me forevermore, I love you, Thorin. Don't leave me." To be in love with another man. In the Shire, such a thing would never have been tolerated. But Bilbo didn't care anymore. "I know it's unnatural," he babbled, trying to stop tears from falling, "but it is what it is. I love you, and I can't do this alone. Please, Thorin. Please." Bilbo didn't even care that there was no someone else hovering around the bed, undoing bandages, saying something in a low voice. Nothing mattered but the deathly pale face framed in dark hair, the cold hand between his own. Bilbo lifted the hand again and kissed the fingers, tears beginning to spill.

"Not unnatural," Thorin whispered. Bilbo gave a start. The dwarf was barely smiling, but much of the tension seemed to have left his face.

"Not?" Bilbo wondered wildly whether there was truth to the rumors that there were no female dwarves. "But, to love another man-" The king interrupted him with a faint laugh. Hardly more than a soft huff.

"Not a man," Thorin breathed. "Never was."

 

 


	2. Nothing to be Done

_"Never was."_

Bilbo's mind refused to process the information properly. At first, he thought that Thorin was referring to his age; boy, not man. But that was ridiculous. Then he thought the dwarf might have been speaking of his lack of experience in bed. This idea brought a healthy flush to the halfling's cheeks, and he quickly moved on.

"Never-?" Bilbo asked helplessly, as much for something to say as out of a desperate need to know the truth, to understand. The voice that answered, however, wasn't Thorin's.

"Thorin, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror, rightful heir to the throne of Erebor." Gandalf's deep tones made Bilbo shiver, and he glanced at the Wizard as the old man pressed a hand to Thorin's chest. "It was necessary to hide her gender so long as there was still a threat of others seeking to take advantage of it." For a moment, the little burglar knew nothing but fear. He gazed up into Gandalf's solemn face, then turned his eyes on Thorin. The dwarf was pale as fresh snow, eyes closed. She nodded slightly. She. If Bilbo had been more aware of it, he would have been ashamed of the wave of relief that swamped him then. He wasn't in love with a man! But that relief was overpowered, masked by fear. Thorin was so cold, so pale--hardly breathing.

"Gandalf, do something! Don't let her die. Please. I'll do anything. Anything." Her. It was strange to say, but it felt right. The Wizard shook his head slightly, brow furrowed with concentration, mumbling words Bilbo didn't understand. A hand on his shoulder pulled him aside, forced him to release Thorin’s, which fell limply back to her side. Dwalin was tight-lipped, and wore the look of one grieving a dear friend. As Oin took his place, Bilbo began to fight, too distraught to know this from that.

"Let 'er be, lad," growled Dwalin. "There's nothin' you can do."

"No!" Bilbo wrenched against the warrior's hands, but Dwalin was a good deal larger and stronger than he, and it did little good. "No! Thorin, please! Don't leave me! Thorin!"

Oin and another healer, an elf by the look of him, were speaking to one another low and fast, all the while Gandalf was mumbling in his strange, foreign tongue. Bilbo strained his ears to hear the healers' conversation, but only caught scattered words. "Bleeding," "heart beat," and "not breathing" were among them. This sent the hobbit into such a panic that Dwalin had to pick him up and carry him away.

* * *

Everywhere he looked, Bilbo saw grief and death and pain. Nothing was right. Nothing was the same. Someone had given him something to drink that burned his throat on the way down. How many times that day he tried to return to the tent where Thorin lay, he didn't know. But each time, one member of the Company or another stopped him and took him somewhere else. Even Fili and Kili, whom Bilbo thought had every right to hate him, were gentle.

"There you are, Bilbo. Just try to relax." Kili tucked a blanket around him, and the hobbit didn't have the strength to protest. Fili pressed a drink on him with his good hand and smiled. The other arm was bound up in a sling, and seemed to give him trouble, for he winced often. If Oin hadn't been otherwise occupied, the halfling didn't doubt that he could scold Fili most thoroughly.

"How?" Bilbo stared down into the dark, steaming liquid. It smelled like spiced wine. "And.. why? Why are you so _calm?_ " The brothers exchanged a glance. Well, half of one. Half of Kili's face was swathed in bandages. It was Fili that finally answered.

"It's hard, watching them suffer. But there's nothing we can do." He shrugged slightly. "Why worry about something you can't change?" If Bilbo had been less preoccupied with his own pain, he might have noticed that in spite of their kindly smiles, both of the boys looked absolutely exhausted, and in more ways than one. Rather than sympathy, however, the hobbit gave them a frustrated, hopeless groan, and made a motion as though to throw the mug of wine. He changed his mind and took a drink instead, much to Kili's relief.

"Everyone keeps saying that. 'Nothing to be done,' 'nothing we can do.' There has to be _something!_ We can't just let him die!" The brother's exchanged another glance.

"Bilbo, there's really no-" Fili began, but the halfling cut him off furiously.

"He's your _uncle!_ You should care! Out of all of them, I thought you two would understand, at least." His angry tone made Fili twitch, then wince, touching his shoulder. Kili scowled.

"You're not the only one that's losing him, Bilbo!" That sharp, ringing voice seemed to cool the burglar's anger, and Bilbo shrank in on himself, a repentant expression on his round face.

"I'm sorry, Kili. I just..." But there was no justification for his words, and he knew it. The hobbit sighed.

"We know." Kili touched the hobbit's shoulder gently. "It's just a hard time. For everyone. But we'll get through. You'll see."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why Bilbo is referring to Thorin as "he," it's for the dual reasons of:  
> A) he's not sure that the rest of the Company knows and  
> B) he's not quite gotten used to the idea of calling her "she" yet.  
> At least, that's the best I could get out of him. He's really a little too hysterical to talk to at the moment.


	3. Exile

When Bilbo next saw Gandalf, it was in the foggy grey light of dawn, and he was following a slow procession of dwarves that was heading up to the Mountain. The hobbit felt his heart shatter like a stone under a dragon's paw and tried to keep the pieces together as he took off for the Wizard's tall form at a dead run. If he'd slept at all, he couldn't remember doing so, and if he noticed that he'd left his blanket behind by the fire, he gave no sign. Bilbo's entire being was focused on catching up to the funeral party (it was the only thing it _could_ be, though it killed him to think it). 

"Gandalf!" The halfling's voice broke, and the Wizard turned back to face him, pointed hat in his hands. "Please--no. Thorin." Gandalf looked ever so much more tired, so much older than he'd ever seemed before. There was no twinkle in those blue eyes, and there were new, deep lines around his mouth that gave him an impossibly sad look. The halfling stumbled in his frantic haste to reach the old man, and staggered to a halt when Gandalf at last spoke.

"She's alive, Bilbo, but only just. We did what we could." The words were spoken in a heavy voice, and the Wizard turned slightly to glance over his shoulder at the stretcher being borne up the causeway to the gates. At first, Bilbo was positive he'd misheard. Alive? Truly? 

"Then she'll-?"

Gandalf shook his head cautiously. "There's no guarantee that she'll ever wake. The wounds Thorin sustained were, by all accounts, fatal." Even these dire warnings weren't enough to stop Bilbo's hope from soaring. Thorin was _alive_!

"Let me help, Gandalf! Please, I'll do anything. Just... let me help." Bilbo's hope deflated somewhat when the Wizard shook his head again.

"It's out of my hands, Bilbo. The King Under the Mountain has been delivered to her people, and it's up to them what happens next."

Bilbo looked frantically after the slow-moving procession, which had nearly reached the gates now. He could see the stretcher that bore Thorin's prone form, and an important-looking figure in blue ahead of the stretcher-bearers. Without a second thought, the halfling was off and running again. He was the Company's burglar. They would let him help. They had to. 

_I'm_ _coming_ , _Thorin_.

Though the distance couldn't have been greater than that from the front door of Bag End to the yard at the Green Dragon, it felt much, much longer. Bilbo an as fast as his furry feet would carry him, but there was still too much time for his mind to invent a hundred 'what if's, each more distressing than the last. Stabbing, fiery pain lurked in his side, burrowing between his ribs like a knife, and the hobbit clutched at the stitch as it flared with each gasping breath. The ruined gate was just beginning to close as he stumbled up to the threshold. 

"Wait! Wait. I... want to help." Doubling over, he braced himself on his knees and wheezed desperately for breath, head spinning. 

"Who are you?" An unfamiliar, bearded face was bending toward him, frowning suspiciously. The well-worn ax in the dwarf's hands didn't escape Bilbo's notice, but for the moment, it didn't seem very important.

"Bilbo Baggins. Thorin's burglar. Please, I need to-" 

" _You're_ the burglar?" The dwarf's frown turned into a scowl, and suddenly the ax was much more important, the curved edge pressed against the halfling's throat. "You're the traitor that tried to put a _man_ on the Carven Throne." Bilbo was startled, hurt, and confused, not to mention still dizzy from his run. He tried to push the ax away, with little success.

"No, I didn't- well, that's what Thorin _thought_ , but it was all a big misunderstanding." He was babbling. The stretcher-bearers were out of sight now, moving through the rubble-strewn entrance hall. The dwarf with his ax at Bilbo's throat snorted incredulously. 

"And I suppose the King himself gave you a full pardon after you explained it to him." He derisive tone was attracting the attention of others. Warriors from the Iron Hills, Bilbo guessed. But that disbelief roused the hobbit's temper, and he straightened with a frown of his own.

"If you must know, she _did_." This statement, made as forcefully as Bilbo could manage, didn't have the effect he'd hoped for. Rather than withdrawing his weapon and apologizing for his rudeness, the dwarf jerked the ax upward, catching the burglar under the chin and throwing him onto his back. There was a trickle of blood running down Bilbo's neck as he sat up, for though the blow had been dealt with the broad side of the weapon, the blade had been resting against his neck, and it was still sharp in spite of yesterday's battle.

"Nice try, traitor." The dwarf snorted and took a step backward, signaling to his fellows at the gate to finish closing them. "We don't allow exiles and liars in our halls." And with that, the great bronzed gates of Erebor boomed shut, leaving a stunned, bleeding hobbit outside as the dawn broke in the east.


	4. Loyalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, I warn you, a pity-party chapter. Bilbo is entitled to it, I suppose, but if you don't want to read about a hobbit feeling sorry for himself, then just go ahead and skip this chapter. 
> 
> In sum: he sneaks into Erebor, 'cause he can be invisibible. *nods*

Bilbo didn't know when or how the Wizard found him outside the gates, or how he got back to Bard's camp. Not allowed? Exiled? Why would they say that? How could they not see that he was telling the truth? As far as he could see, his last hope at helping Thorin had just gone down the tubes. Out the window. Over the hill and down the river.

The day passed in a blur of silent despair, and if called upon, the hobbit wouldn't have been able to tell what had happened to him, or even if he'd eaten. Kili found him at some point, sitting beside the fire, and seemed very unhappy, but nothing he said made any difference. At least, Bilbo didn't remember any of his words.

It is possible that, if not for one small event after sundown, the hobbit would have stayed there by the fire until Thorin came to get him, or Gandalf sent him home. But as it happened, Bombur brought him a bit of supper, and stayed with him a while to ensure he ate it.

"It's really an outrage, Bilbo. We all saw how you stayed, how you _fought._ If you were really a traitor, you wouldn't have--I mean, honestly." Bombur gave him an appraising glance, and urged him to eat. "No offense, little friend, but you're no warrior. Now, no one can doubt your courage, believe you me, but who in their right mind would think that someone with as little training as you have would stay to fight in a battle like that for _personal gain?_ " The corpulent dwarf sighed, lapsing into silence. Bilbo said nothing, staring unseeingly into the darkness as he'd been doing before his friend had arrived. It would be easy for a bystander to tell that the hobbit was barely aware of the food in his hands, let alone the one-sided conversation between himself and the dwarf.

"It's tradition, that's what it is. Only the king can sentence or pardon, and Thorin isn't... not that I don't believe you, Bilbo. You've got no reason to lie." Bombur shook his head with a sigh. "If I could smuggle you in, you know I would. Anyone can see the truth if they'd just _look_." What exactly the fat cook meant by this last comment was lost on Bilbo, but something else had caught his attention, and his eyes seemed a little clearer as Bombur bid him goodnight. Smuggle. Yes. He had the ring. He could sneak in. Then he'd just have to wait for Thorin to wake up and tell those idiots from the Iron Hills that she'd forgiven him.

As this mad plan hatched in his brain, the hobbit felt almost like he was regaining feeling in himself after going numb with cold. It was a simple matter, really. Put the ring on, wait until the gates were open. Bilbo even smiled. It would be like hiding in Thranduil's halls while the others were imprisoned. He ate the meal Bombur had brought him with renewed vigor. Thorin would wake up soon, and then everything would be fine.

* * *

It was a surprise to the halfling to be woken from a sound sleep just before dawn by the movement of one of the women from Laketown as she knelt by to rekindle the fire. Perhaps he oughtn't have been surprised at all, considering how little sleep he'd been getting. Without delay, Bilbo set off for the Mountain, slipping his ring on before he'd even left camp. As he glanced back at the tents Thranduil had given to the Lake Men, he thought of Bard, and how much he, Bilbo, owed the man.

_I'll thank him properly once Thorin is better._  A vague thought at best, but it settled his conscience on the matter.

In the clear, brightening light of morning, loose stones shifted under the hobbit's invisible feet, and folk weary from more than just lack of sleep moved out over the battlefield. Dwarves, Men and Elves all worked together to clean up the horrific aftermath of the battle. The vast majority of the dead were goblins, orcs and wargs, but here and there was a fair face, a sturdy silver helm, a beard tied in dignified braids. Bilbo's pace slowed as he looked out over the devastation.

A soft voice awoke in the back of his mind, whispering darkly. It was the dragon's fault, ultimately, for he had gathered such incredible wealth that it inspired such greed and anger. _But if Thorin had just been freer with the gold, if she'd just given Bard his due-_  but it had been the Arkenstone's influence that had fostered that blindness, that gold-lust. And besides, all that had been forgiven and corrected... hadn't it? _Or did Thorin only forgive you because she thought she was dying?_

That soft voice was getting nastier now. Bilbo tried to shake it away, but his heart started to pound with a thrill of fear. _After all, what harm would there  be in making a fellow feel a little better with a lie, if you're about to die, right?_  No. Thorin wouldn't do that. She- _Ah. But she never said she loved you, did she?_

The halfling stopped dead on the causeway, feeling as though his insides had been turned to ice. Had he truly been taking it for granted that his feelings were returned in kind? What if she _didn't,_ in fact, love him at all? For a long moment, Bilbo couldn't think of an answer, too overcome with completely unfounded betrayal. Then that blessed, annoyingly logical part of his mind spoke into the devastated silence.

_If she doesn't love you, then you'll do your best for her now, and leave when she asks you to._

It was hardly the happy ending he'd imagined, but it was a plan. And, Bilbo reasoned (somewhat desperately) there was still a chance that she _did_ love him, that she _had_ meant her apology. Arming himself with this hope, he made his way up to the gates.

They were slightly less misshapen than they had been the previous day. Bilbo assumed some work had gone into repairing them. They were also open, which was convenient, though it was heavily guarded, which was not so convenient. There were at least a dozen dwarves about the gates, alert and frowning, all armed to the teeth and fully armored. They were, however, the only guards in sight. As Bilbo moved past them, a couple shifted slightly, but none seemed to notice him. Further into the halls, the halfling moved as silently as ever a hobbit could. His suspicions were confirmed as he reached the far end of the entrance hall without meeting anything more than a stonemason, chipping away gently at deep scores in the floor, where Smaug had made his final, dramatic exit.

In fact, there were no more guards anywhere in Erebor. Not that Bilbo could see, anyway. Every other dwarf he encountered was busy--clearing rubble or mending doors or any number of tasks that would eventually see the Mountain restored to its proper glory once more.

Perhaps he hadn't seen it before, because it had been little more than a ruin of a time long past to him, but it was now startling to Bilbo how sad and shabby things seemed, in spite of their grand scale. And the more he saw of Erebor, the sadder it looked, made all the more so by the grim-faced dwarves that now populated it--a bare two hundred out of the thousands the grand halls could support. If anything, it felt even emptier now than it had when it was empty.

Bilbo wandered down the halls and corridors, through doorways and ruined chambers, feeling more and more unsettled and anxious as time went on. Not only did the place depress him, but he couldn't even begin to figure out where Thorin was being kept.

 


	5. Finding Thorin

Evening fell upon the world under the sky, and as the sun set, the day's work came to an end. In the Mountain, where there were no windows to let in the beautiful colors of the winter twilight, the only change Bilbo saw was the increase in the number of exhausted dwarves in the corridors. As they all seemed to be heading in the same general direction, he followed them.

The dining hall opened up in front of him, brighter and cleaner and more cheerful than any other room he'd yet encountered in Erebor. Lanterns glittered and shone at intervals along the lengthy tables, and the window Balin had said used to open into the kitchens (oh how long ago it seemed now) let in a flood of golden light and delicious smells. Dwarves were collecting their meals and sitting together--some even talked and smiled. The high table, on its raised dais near the far wall, was nearly empty. A single dwarf, dressed in deep blue and wearing what appeared to be a crown of iron, ate alone at a seat near the end. It looked as though there should have been others to fill the space around him, especially the larger, more ornate chair in the middle. 

_The lower tables have benches, but the high table has chairs. It just makes it look emptier._  Before Bilbo could think too much more about it, he spotted a familiar figure pausing to speak with the dwarf in the iron crown. Oin was holding a dinner tray and inclining his head toward the crowned one; who, Bilbo now realized, must be Dain, Thorin's cousin from the Iron Hills.

Leaving the safety of the alcove he'd hidden himself in, the halfling checked to make sure his ring was firmly on before setting off across the hall at a brisk trot. It wasn't until he skirted a small group with their fresh, hot food and rattling dishes that the little burglar realized how hungry he was. Bilbo actually paused a moment, feeling his stomach clench and grumble emptily. Had he eaten that morning? He couldn't recall. And even if he hadn't, there was little enough to be done about it right now, with so many people around to notice things going missing. 

Reluctantly, Bilbo moved on, breaking into as silent a run as could be managed--for he saw Oin disappearing through a side door behind the high table. Eager not to lose sight of his old friend for too long, the hobbit may have been a little reckless. As he passed Dain as a dead run, the dwarf looked up with a frown, scanning the hall. Still, Bilbo caught only a glimpse of his suspicious expression before he was darting through the door after the healer. 

After the chatter and clatter of the dining hall, this low-ceilinged corridor was oppressively quiet. Bilbo was aware that his winded breathing was very loud, but Oin was already disappearing around a corner up ahead. There was nothing for it but to go on and hope he could get his breathing under control before anyone heard him. 

Each passage seemed to lead to three others. Unlike the rest of the Mountain (that Bilbo had seen, in any case) these tunnels were low and close, with highly polished floors and long blank spaces along the walls that ought, the hobbit suspected, have held tapestries. Instead, they were decorated with scorch marks. There were no doors in this warren of corridors and steps and passages, but the way was well-lit, and Oin led the way at a steady pace, out into a larger, more impressive hall.

There were more lanterns here, and though the deep scores of Smaug's claws were still apparent in the floor and one wall, all other evidence of the dragon's presence had been erased from this part of the Mountain. Doors were spaced along the walls at intervals, repaired and gleaming in the light of many colored lanterns. Oin made straight for a door on their left, guarded by a very familiar, tattooed warrior. 

Dwalin stopped Oin to speak quietly with him for a moment, which gave Bilbo just enough time to catch up. He held his breath as Dwalin opened the door and ushered the healer in, squinting suspiciously up and down the hall. Passing Dwalin now was a risk, to be sure, but it was a risk he couldn't afford not to take. Not daring to breathe, the hobbit slipped into the room, barely fast enough to avoid getting caught in the door, very nearly bumping into Oin in the process. The old dwarf actually paused, turning his head slightly as though to glance over his shoulder.

The chamber was muffled and silent (the hobbit tried very hard not to think the phrase "as the grave"). Bilbo had expected something spartan and bare, a room of rock and stone--what he found was a level of opulence that was, he thought, completely at odds with Thorin's character. A large four-poster bed served as a centerpiece for the room, elegant curtains of heavy blue velvet, each hanging in a slightly musty swag at its respective post. Two enormously overstuffed armchairs sat near the fireplace, illumined by a roaring fire whose flickering light danced across the plush rug that covered half the floor. Bilbo suspected it was Elf-made; at least, he couldn't imagine any dwarf creating such a soft, superfluous accessory with quite so many green and growing things depicted on it. An alcove cut into the far wall was structured something like a window-seat, and held a number of blue and gold cushions that, on closer inspection, looked rather moth-eaten. 

But all this, the hobbit took in at a brief glance. His gaze was drawn to the still figure in the middle of the over-sized bed, over which Oin was now leaning. Bilbo moved closer to the bed, keenly aware of the smothering silence of the strangely rich chamber. 

"The sooner you wake up, my girl, the sooner you can put all these silly quarrels to rest." Oin spoke softly to his unconscious patient as he checked her pulse and bandages. Bilbo wondered briefly if he were the only member of the Company that hadn't known Thorin was female.

"Still weak," Oin said with a sigh, letting her wrist fall back to its former resting place. "And your breathing is shallow, too. Come on, Thorin. I know you can do better." There was an encouraging, slightly pleading tone to the healer's words, and Bilbo's throat constricted slightly. Thorin was very pale, and lay in the middle of the bed as one dead, eyes closed and hands folded across her breast. The sight was one that Bilbo felt would haunt him to the end of his days. Creeping further into the room, the halfling skirted the plush rug to stand at the corner of the bed furthest from Oin.

"You need to wake up and eat something," the healer was saying admonishingly. "There are too many people worrying about you as-is. Mahal forbid you should start losing weight. The Mountain might go mad." Though the old dwarf spoke lightly, there was an undercurrent of seriousness to his words.

After a few more minutes of encouraging comments, scoldings and fussing over blankets and clothing and bandages, Oin reluctantly retreated to one of the overstuffed chairs near the fire and pulled the dinner tray into his lap, settling in to eat. It wasn't long after that the spoon slipped from his fingers and his grey head drooped heavily closer and closer to his chest until his snores were muffled in his thick beard. Bilbo might have been concerned if he hadn't seen the old healer do exactly this by his own bedside, when he was ill in Laketown. 

Under the cover of the dwarf's exhausted snores, Bilbo moved along the edge of the bed until he stood near Thorin's still form. He reached out hesitantly, and after a moment's debate, took Thorin's hand between his own. It was cool and dry, and the little burglar felt a twinge of fear. What if she _didn't_  wake up? 

"Thorin... please come back to me. I don't know who I am without you." Certainly not the Baggins of Bag End that had felt ill at the thought of a dragon. The future had never looked so uncertain as it did now. "Your people need you. Your Mountain needs you. Your burglar needs you. Please come back."


	6. Discovered

Morning. Noon. Evening. night. All were the same in the world under the Mountain. At least, they were to Bilbo's untrained eyes. He measured his days by Oin's visits, and learned to time his trips to the kitchen for food so as to catch the door open on his return. More than once he was forced to wait in the hall for interminable lengths of time, praying Dwalin wouldn't detect his presence, waiting for Oin to return. The stalwart guard never let anyone else through the door, and rare indeed were the days he left the room unguarded. Bilbo suspected the hulking warrior slept standing up in the hall.

Day after day, Bilbo watched over his king, speaking and singing to her when they were alone, which was often. And day after day, Thorin lay still and quiet. Nothing seemed to change, and if Oin hadn't made comments to himself about how much stronger she grew as time passed, the hobbit would have thought the injured dwarf was slipping away. Certainly she never moved or snored, though Oin described her state as "sleep."

The hardest part of being invisible and in a place one isn't supposed to be in is finding somewhere to sleep. The fact that he snored was a problem he couldn't seem to get around (though, he thought defensively, he wasn't nearly as loud as the dwarves). Solution--don't sleep unless no one else is around to hear. Well, that plan was bound to come to grief eventually. He just hadn't expected it to go wrong quite so... violently.

Have you ever been woken when someone screamed, or when you fell out of bed? If you haven't, then you probably don't know that disoriented, angry, frightened feeling of not being entirely sure who or what or where you are. Some people react very loudly to things like this. Luckily for Bilbo, he wasn't the sort to thrash and yell when caught by surprise.

Something heavy and resoundingly metallic collided with the hobbit's curly head, creating a deafening noise and simultaneous explosion of pain in his skull. Through the ringing in his ears, the halfling could hear a loud, rough voice.

"Make yourself known, sneak! We don't tolerate spies and thieves."

Though his vision fuzzed and swam, Bilbo could see a bearded figure standing over him, holding a wide, slightly dented silver tray. He swallowed a groan of pain, laying very still and thinking that maybe his attacker would just-

CLANG

With a yelp of pained surprise, Bilbo clutched his throbbing arm.

"Show yourself!" bellowed the dwarf, who was neither Oin nor Dwalin. Bilbo yanked his ring off and squinted up at the angry dwarf, rubbing his arm and making no effort to stand. His head ached something awful, and it was hard to focus properly. The dull glint of iron in his attacker's dark hair made his heart sink like a stone. What was Dain doing in here? Where was Oin? There was little time for further pondering as Dain pushed the surprisingly sharp edge of the tray under Bilbo's chin and against his throat.

"Who are you, small one? State your name."

"Bilbo Baggins, sir." The hobbit could have kicked himself. Why not lie? Give a false name? Say he was one of Dwalin's guards? Anything but advertise the fact that he was an exiled traitor to the crown of Erebor. Dain's dark eyes, nothing like Thorin's blue ones, narrowed dangerously.

"You're the burglar, then. The traitor who-"

"Gave away the Arkenstone. Yeah." Bilbo tried to push the tray away and gagged as it was thrust hard against his neck, digging into sensitive flesh.

"Dain!" Dwalin was striding angrily across the room, and the door was half-open behind him. Bilbo might have said something if Dain's tray hadn't been cutting off his ability to breathe, let alone speak.

"That's 'my lord' to you, son of Fundin." As the iron-crowned dwarf turned to scowl at Dwalin, he leaned slightly forward, and Bilbo let out a most undignified squeak of protest. A squeak, however, was all he could manage, and his face was quickly taking on a dangerous shade of purple.

"Let the halfling go, Dain." Dwalin scowled right back, seeming neither uncomfortable nor willing to put up with Dain's superior streak. Thorin's cousin had always been that way--very aware of his station, of tradition. Not to say he was a bad leader. Anything but. But Dwalin had always thought him an intolerable prat of a person.

"You protect the traitor, then?" Dain's eyes were slits in his flushed, angry face and all the while, Bilbo spluttered and struggled for air. "You would stand by an oath-breaker?"

"He swore no oath-"

"He betrayed his king!" Dain turned away from the halfling completely now, brandishing the tray at Dwalin, and Bilbo went limp as he sucked in great lungfuls of precious, life-giving air.

"The burglar isn't bound to the Mountain, or to her king." Dwalin and Dain were nearly nose to nose now, and if Bilbo had been in any condition to watch them, he would have seen that they were very nearly the same size, though Dwalin was taller.

"Your brother told me that the burglar swore fealty. Is he a _liar,_ then?"

There was a beat of silence so tense, it might have snapped on its own, even if Dwalin hadn't thrown himself at Dain. It may have been that Dwalin would even have been victorious, but Dain's guards interfered too soon for there to have been a clear outcome. As the bald warrior was dragged away by his arms, he snarled curses at everyone in the room, including Bilbo.

Silence fell over the room again as the door closed with a sound of finality, but the peace didn't last very long. The halfling had only just managed to avoid being squashed in the fight, and now found himself being hoisted into the air by one hairy ankle.

"So, thievery isn't enough, eh? Now you're spreading dissent and plotting murder?" Dain scowled angrily down at the flabbergasted hobbit, dangling upside-down in front of him. Bilbo's face was resuming its unhealthy purple complexion as all the blood rushed to his head, but he managed to splutter protests all the same.

"Murder?! Why would I-- _who_ would I-?" The little halfling stopped mid-question when Dain shook him so hard his teeth rattled.

"Don't play dumb with me. You might have fooled those soft-hearted sentimental types that followed her on that insane quest of hers, but I can see right through your little act. Maybe it's different among your folk, but no dwarf would ever lower himself to killing the defenseless. Scum." Dain dropped him in a heap on the floor and spat on him. Bilbo was torn between anxiety and disgust.

"But I wasn't-"

"Xim! Halar! Get in here and help me deal with this traitor."

Two armed dwarves entered the chamber--the same two that had dragged Dwalin out only minutes before. Perhaps it was a ridiculous thought, but Bilbo hoped they hadn't hurt him. All thought of Dwalin (who could defend himself perfect well, thank you very much) went right out of his head when each of the two guards grabbed his arms and lifted him into the air again. The hobbit kicked his furry feet in an effort to reach the ground, and shot a slightly desperate glance at the bed, wishing Thorin would rescue him from her crazy relatives.

"We don't tolerates spies and thieves--and least of all, murderers." Dain's threatening growl vibrated in Bilbo's chest, and he felt his heart sink when he saw the crowned dwarf accept a long, sharp knife from one of the guards. "Let's take him outside. I'd hate to make a mess in here."

Terror jolted through him like lightning as Bilbo realized the full implication of this statement. Dain meant to kill him. So, he did the only thing that made any hobbity sense at all. He started to struggle and fight, yelling at the very top of his voice.

"Thorin! They're trying to kill me, Thorin! HELP!"

 


	7. Justified

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than one person has suggested (in a way that makes me think that they hope it won't actually happen) that it would be very dramatic if Thorin woke up and found that Bilbo had already been killed. At some point in the future, I may write an alternate ending. For those of you that are worried about our little hobbit, I wish to extend assurances. He lives. :)

Whether his luck had finally run out or Thorin simply didn't have the power to wake from her slumber, Bilbo couldn't have said. He got a fist in the mouth for his protests, and was carried swiftly out of the room. Another time, perhaps, this would have plunged him into helpless, self-centered depression. He was alone and powerless to stop dwarves twice his size from carrying him toward the last scene his earthly eyes would ever see. Today, however, it just made him mad. With everything unhobbitish he'd ever had in him, the hobbit thrashed and wriggled and kicked his furry feet.

"You put me down right this instant! You're worse than trolls, you are!" The hands on his arms tightened to the point of being painful. Bilbo didn't stop, though. "Attacking an unarmed hobbit without warning, unprovoked--and you have the nerve to accuse _me_ or murder! Ha!" Dain's dark, crowned head turned slightly as he stopped in the middle of the hall, so Bilbo could see part of his face. He looked positively livid.

"Am I to understand that you're _accusing_ me?"

If the dangerous tone of Dain's question made any impression on the little burglar, he didn't let on. "Who else would I be accusing?!" Bilbo's voice echoed in the hall as he yelled at Dain as loud as he could, too angry to be frightened anymore. "You attacked me when I was _asleep_  and _completely defenseless!_ On top of that, I'm unarmed, you're twice my size, _and_ you're not alone! If this is what you call a fair fight, I'd hate to see an unfair one."

Oin emerged from the room next to Thorin's, frowning groggily out at them with his grey hair sticking out in odd directions. "Keep it down ya--Bilbo? What are-?"

"The king needs your attention," growled Dain, still scowling bad-temperedly at Bilbo, as though contemplating how best to silence him forevermore.

"Don't you take that tone with me, young'un." OIn gave the incensed dwarf a sharp look, seeming more awake now. Bilbo could have sung his praises. "There's no need to pull rank here. Come, Cousin, and tell me why you've got our hobbit in such a state."

"I'm _older_ than you." Dain's protest came swiftly, and it was clear that this was an argument they had had often in the past. At least, it sounded much more like a childish complaint than the righteously indignant protest of a warrior. "And this 'hobbit' was caught in the king's chambers, hiding and plotting to kill-"

"I was sleeping!" bellowed the infuriated halfling. "Oin, get me _down_ from here!" It was a credit to the healer that he managed to take in the scene before him and not smile, for no matter how angry he might be, a hobbit whose feet cannot touch the ground is an amusing sight.

"If there was ever a soul less likely to kill anything, I don't know him. Cousin-"

"He's a traitor and exiled from Erebor by order of the king!" The threat of being undermined, his orders contradicted, his authority questioned, was something that Dain would not tolerate. Turning his scowl on his cousin, he squared his shoulders impressively. "Trespass is a crime punishable-"

"I'll vouch for him, Dain." Oin looked serious now.

"You'll...." Dain spluttered, his face beginning to turn red again.

"Yes, I will." Oin gave the self-proclaimed "king" of the Iron Hills a very calm look, just as though they were equals.

"Can someone, uh, explain what that means?" Bilbo had stopped yelling and struggling, and now glanced hopefully at the guards as he hung like a ragdoll from their strong hands.

"It means that if you misbehave, the punishment falls on me instead of you. Don't disappoint, Bilbo." And, giving Dain a final, stern look, the healer shuffled toward Thorin's room. He left a feeling in his wake, as of something incredibly important and weighty that had just happened, but the halfling was a little confused. He'd treated it so lightly. Was it really a serious thing? Tension permeated the atmosphere in the hall, and Bilbo could feel the guards on either side of him shifting nervously. They looked expectantly at Dain, who seemed to be choking on some tremendous insult he longed to throw at Oin's retreating back.

All at once, Dain turned on his heel, facing the halfling with a furious expression. For a moment, Bilbo dared to hope that he might have just escaped attending his own execution. Then an accusing finger nearly poked him in the eye as Dain made several very angry and incomprehensible gestures

"You--I challenge you. Even if no one else believes me, I _know_ you're up to no good." His voice, though thick with anger, rang clearly, as though he were making some sort of important announcement.

"Challenge?" At this point, the halfling had to admit to himself that his fury had boiled down to mild irritation at best. His anger had ever been... short-lived.

"Yes, challenge. A duel by ax for my honor--for you have given me insult."

Bilbo was astounded by this dwarf's persistence.

"Insult? I haven't given you anything. If you're going to kill me for something, at least let me do it first." But he really had no desire to insult Dain. There was a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach, and the hobbit had to acknowledge the conclusion that if Dain really thought he deserved to die, there was little he, or anyone else, could do to stop him.

"You lie to my face, pretend to be loyal. The throne belongs in the control of Dwarves alone, and the king needs people he can trust. His own kin." The dwarf's tone was nothing if not earnest.

Bilbo's sinking feeling turned into a drowning feeling. Not only did his captor feel his cause and sentence were both just, but he was also biased against non-dwarves. Lovely.

And so it was that history was made under the Mountain, in the kingdom of Erebor. Never before had any non-dwarf engaged in a duel of honor in any of the seven great Dwarf kingdoms. Bilbo held the dueling ax the guard had given him (Xim, he thought) very awkwardly. It felt nothing like his little sword, and the hobbit gripped the haft with both hands. Dain stood opposite him, holding an identical, lightweight ax in one hand. This room, Dain had told him with a certain measure of pride, had been built precisely for hit purpose. It was long and narrow, with aisles on either side of the main, open area, divided from it by a series of slender, scarred columns.

_Only Dwarves would think of making a room specifically for fighting._

"Defend yourself," Dain growled.

Bilbo closed his eyes. Thoughts of home came almost automatically as he searched for comfort in his final moments. Bag End, with its green door and many pleasant memories, seemed neither as comforting nor as appealing as it had, once.

"A bit hard to defend yourself that way."

Bilbo's eyes snapped open. That wasn't Dain's voice. The halfling spun around, dropping his ax in the process. Thorin stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on a very harassed-looking Oin. Relief flooded through him an instant before his world exploded with fresh pain, and dissolved into darkness.


	8. Thought Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Bilbo lives. There is a happy ending.

The grass was soft under his feet, the sun warm on his face. The garden was bursting with life, and he could see old Pondus Proudfoot down the lane, showing off his new pipe to Hamwise Gamgee, who was looking terribly impressed. Something was different, though. Something _felt_ different. As though... there were a scent in the air he didn't recognize, or a tree that had always been in one place had been moved. Slowly, Bilbo turned around. There was Bag End, with its bright green door, windows all open with shutters flung wide. The sound of cheerful humming came from within. In a sort of daze, he found himself drifting up the stairs to the front door. It opened at a touch, and there in the front hall was a pretty hobbit lass with curly red-brown hair that fell to her waist. He didn't recognize her, but he knew that she was his wife. As she straightened, he saw the burgeoning swell of her belly, and the bright smile on her face.

"Are you ready?" she asked, and there was an eerie quality to her voice, as though she spoke from the bottom of a deep vase.

"Ready for what?" He didn't remember wanting to speak, but he asked the question regardless.

"To come home to me."

"Bilbo?" Behind him, outside the front door. The hobbit turned, feeling conflicted and confused. This voice was one he knew. There stood a dwarf in armor, holding a long Elvish sword and looking particularly singed all over.

"Bilbo?" she repeated, seeming somewhat desperate. "Bilbo!" He tried to tell her that he was right here, that he could hear her, but she wasn't listening. He could tell by the cut of her beard that she was female, though why females should have beards baffled him somewhat. "Please, don't leave."

"Leave? Why would I leave?"

"Promise me!"

"Aren't you coming home, Bilbo?" The pretty hobbit lass was right behind him now. He could feel her soft, motherly aura. She was all that was safe in the world. The singed dwarf gave him a wild look.

"Promise me!" she repeated, more earnestly. Bilbo moved away from his wife, away from the front door, away from Bag End.

"I promise."

"Just don't leave. Promise me."

"I promise, Thorin, I promise."

"He's coming to."

"About time."

"No. I promised. Can't-"

"Bilbo?"

The hobbit woke with a jolt, and felt a surge of claustrophobia, as though the stone walls were pressing in on him, as though the miles of earth and rock above were straining to meet him. It rushed in on him all at once, the Quest, Smaug, winning the Mountain, the Battle. Thorin. It was all real. It was all happening. Bilbo tried to sit up, but hands were restraining him.

"Thorin! Thor-" Bilbo cut off with a groan of pain, for his right arm and leg both felt like they were in fire.

"Stay still there, lad. It's alright. We've got you." Oin's gruff voice seemed to open a door in his mind, and Bilbo let himself go limp, breathing harder than necessary, pain making his eyes water.

"What can I do, Cousin?"

"Just hold 'im there, that's a good lad. I need to finish rebandaging that foot."

The hobbit lay still under a pair of strong hands, feeling them apply gentle pressure to his chest. It was as though someone were slowly removing a film from his eyes. He'd been seeing before, but not really seeing at all. Now he could tell that it was Kili leaning over him. He had to admit to himself that for a moment, he'd thought _she_ was here.

"What-" but before he could complete the question, Kili had thumped him hard on the chest, knocking the air out of him. While Bilbo gasped and wheezed, Oin studiously pretended not to notice anything and Kili scowled down at him.

"Don't you _dare_ do that again!" The young dwarf seemed very earnest, and if Bilbo had had the breath, he would have been just as earnest in demanding to know what in Arda had made it perfectly alright to hit a fellow without any warning.

"Do _what_?!" he managed to gasp, blinking away tears of pain as his whole upper body seemed to convulse with the effort of drawing the life-giving air into his lungs.

"You disappeared! We thought you'd left us, that you went back-" Kili gestured furiously toward the door as though that explained everything. "We searched everywhere! Why didn't you tell any of us? We could've helped you." This last was spoken, not in anger, but in reproach, and once more, Bilbo found himself looking into the face of a young, frightened dwarf, just as he had after the Battle, when he'd thought Thorin was dying.

"I didn't think... well, I didn't think you _would_." The hobbit frowned at him, rubbing his chest tenderly with the hand it didn't hurt to move. "You seriously thought I'd gone back to the Shire, after all we've been through?"

"Well, we couldn't find you anywhere! What were we supposed to think, Bilbo? That you'd vanished into thin air?"

Rather than swelling into a rage, Bilbo's anger seemed to deflate and shrivel up, turning into a tiny seed of guilt instead. Of course they would have worried. Why would he have thought otherwise?

"I just... I thought that you would tell me there was nothing to be done." This wasn't strictly true, as Bilbo hadn't been thinking much of anything beyond 'get inside, get to Thorin,' but the hobbit wanted very much to defend himself. Kili seemed to understand this reasoning, and sank back to sit on the stool beside his bed.

"I guess... maybe we might have. But you didn't have to do this alone, Bilbo. You might've died. And then what would we say to Uncle? 'Oh, sorry, but we lost your burglar while you were sleeping'?"

"Kili, get me that bin by the door."

Oin's request was met by immediate obedience from the younger dwarf, and Bilbo watched him go, thinking hard about what had just happened. His eyes landed on the foot Oin was tending, and at first, he didn't recognize it. Then, with dawning horror, he realized that all the lovely, curly hair had been shaved off. There was an ugly, puckered wound there, half-healed and smeared with greenish paste.

"What...?" Bilbo couldn't bring himself to finish the question. Oin understood, though. The healer glanced at him and gave what he supposed was a sympathetic smile.

"You dropped that dueling ax when you saw us. Lucky it was so light. Bounced off the bones in your foot."

_Bounced off the bone?_ The hobbit was somewhat unsettled by this phrase.

"Right after that, Dain's first blow hit your shoulder. Only dislocated it, though. It'll heal quick enough." Oin glanced at him and lifted his bushy eyebrows. "You alright?"

Bilbo looked a little pale. He was grateful, however, when he was distracted from the mental image of his arm being ripped out of its socket by voices out in the hallway. Angry voices. And getting closer. Oin straightened slightly, and Kili regarded the door with some apprehension. As the voices' owners approached, he could make out some of their conversation.

"...he is, so help me, I'll put your head through the wall."

"He needs time to recover-"

"He can recover after I'm done with him!"

_bang_

Somewhere nearby, a door was opened rather more violently than necessary. Bilbo glanced at Kili, but he was already in the corner and pretending to be very busy winding up a length of linen bandaging. Oin was muttering something about needing to empty the bins, and wrapping his foot hastily, as though very eager to be gone.

"We didn't know, we _couldn't_ have told you."

"Someone ought to have. If nothing else, _he_ should have!"

_bang_

They were getting closer, and now Bilbo was getting nervous, too. He knew those voices.

"Thorin, be reasonable about this."

"Don't tell me to be reasonable!"

_BANG_

The door flew inward and hit the wall with a sharp report. Framed in the doorway was Thorin, a knobbly cane in one hand, Balin hovering behind her with a worried expression on his tired old face. It was clear that keeping the Mountain in order was telling on the grandfatherly dwarf. It was equally clear that Thorin was in a towering rage.

" _You._ " Her blue eyes blazed, fixed on the bed and its occupant, who was currently trying not to tremble. Bilbo had hoped that Thorin would be in a better mood when they were finally reunited. Any hopes of gratitude or admiration were utterly dashed at the fury in her tone.

Thorin limped forward, and to the hobbit's dismay, Oin stepped out of her way without even trying to stop her. It was a small comfort that Balin didn't seem to approve of the healer's lack of action either. After that, there was no room for further contemplation of the other dwarves in the room, because Thorin filled up most of his field of vision, and he didn't dare look away, not even as she reached forward, grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him upright with one hand.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again, do you hear me? Risking your life like that, sneaking around behind everyone's back--getting _caught!_ " This seemed to anger her more than anything else, and she shook him before letting the halfling fall back onto the bed. Bilbo hissed in pain, blinking hard to wick away the tears.

"Thorin I-"

"Don't you 'Thorin' me, Mr. Baggins." How long had it been since she'd been that formal with him? Not since Mirkwood, surely. "You could have been lost! You could have died! You could have lost Erebor her burglar!"

"Erebor's-"

"I _am_ Erebor!" Thorin towered over him, seeming even taller than usual while he was laying on a bed at knee-height. "And if you think you have the right to deprive me-"

"I did it for you!" Bilbo yelled the words, desperate to head her off before she could deafen him. "I did it to watch over you!"

For a very tense moment, burglar and king looked at one another, both breathing a little harder than usual. Bilbo blinked first, and looked away. "I couldn't... I couldn't stand being away from you. You could've--you might've died, and I wouldn't be there to say goodbye. Or something might've happened that I could prevent. Someone might've hurt you while you were... I couldn't let that happen, Thorin. I couldn't wait out there. I _needed_  to be in here. With you."

Blue eyes closed, and the dark head bowed for a moment, and Bilbo wondered if he'd said something unforgivable. She swallowed and ran a hand over her beard, which was longer than it had been, hanging in fine, silky curls from her chin and jaw.

"You understand," she began, in so soft a tone that the hobbit began to fear something had come... _unbalanced_  while Thorin slept. She sat down on the edge of his bed, continuing in a slow, halting voice, "loyalty is prized above almost anything else among Dwarves. I thought that I would never see you again. So when I saw... when I heard...." Thorin shook her dark head slightly. Bilbo couldn't see her face anymore, since she was sitting with her back to him. He reached out hesitantly, almost afraid that she would switch moods again without warning. He'd never seen Thorin do this before, though the moods were familiar enough. Even before he’d said anything, Thorin took his hand between her own. As always, he was impressed by how muscular and calloused they were. Strong hands. Hands that could do anything.

“I lost you, then I found, then I lost you again.” There was a short, pregnant pause. “I don’t think… I’m… strong enough… to do that again. Promise me you won’t risk your life like that, ever again. Please.”

The room had gone very still. If it weren’t for the breathing of the other dwarves, Bilbo would have thought they were the only two creatures under the Mountain. There was only one other time that he’d heard Thorin admit even a pinprick of weakness. That had been just before he had snuck down to see Smaug for the first time.

_”You’re asking me to watch you disappear into that tunnel, swallowed by the darkness. I might never see you again. I will ask you only once. Are you sure, are you really sure, that you’re ready for this? Because if you don’t come back, I don’t think I can be the king I’m meant to be.”_

He hadn’t really understood it then. The hobbit liked to think he understood now. Giving her hand a squeeze, he lifted it to his face, and gave her fingers a kiss.

“I promise.” When he looked into her face again, he was surprised to find there was a slight pink tinge hiding at the edges of her beard. A quick glance around revealed the rest of the dwarves looking extremely embarrassed and generally uncomfortable. Even Balin.

“Out. All of you.”

Kili, Oin, and Balin all hastened to obey Thorin’s crisp order, and the door closed firmly behind them.

“Thorin, I-”

“Bilbo.” Her voice seemed suddenly rather serious. The halfling fell silent, watching her uneasily. Was this the precursor to another mood-swing, then? She continued in the same calm, serious tone. “Dwarves aren’t a very… outgoing race. We don’t often display our love, let alone show affection in front of others.”

Bilbo was beginning to see where this was going. Was that why they’d all looked so embarrassed? Thorin turned now, looking at him gravely.

“I must ask you not to kiss me again, in any way, until after we’re married.”

The hobbit stared at her blankly for a moment as the words percolated through his brain. “Until after we’re…?” He had thought that _he_ was the one that was supposed to propose, but he supposed the details could be ironed out later. For now, he was pleased to completely ignore her request and kiss her full on the mouth. And even if he lost a couple teeth when she punched him for it, the sight of Thorin Oakenshield trying not to smile as she left was worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As able, I will write two more chapters--one will be an interim piece, explaining what happened to Dain. The other will be an alternate ending, for if Bilbo had died in the duel. Both will be very dramatic.


End file.
